


Quickies

by MorganOfTheFey



Series: OTP: Coat-Coat, Murder [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, Other, agender!sole survivor, always a happy ending though, occasionally some angst, these are just previews, they/them pronouns used to refer to my SS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... previews, that is. Just some quick previews of the drabbles I'm thinking about adding next to this series. Each chapter will be a preview of a different drabble. If one of them touches your heart or lower parts, leave a comment asking to see it posted next!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes You Just Gotta Murder a Guy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a preview of a drabble where Scout tells their companions what their very first stupid thought was upon meeting them. Hancock expects their first thought of him to be something about his face, but instead it turns fluffy, so sickeningly sweet that all the other companions give the two of them the room to be mushy, sappy babies together.

Scout was pleasantly drunk, the kind of drunk where they wanted to get cuddly with whoever was nearby and their voice volume was permanently on max. Luckily, all their other friends were various stages of drunk—or just a little bit high, in Hancock's case—so their own snuggly intoxication wasn't too embarrassing.

“So you'd just come out of the Vault, yeah?” Piper said, smiling with flushed cheeks.

“You already did this interview, Pipes,” Scout replied with a giggle.

“No, no, no, not this interview,” Piper protested. “I wanna—I wanna know what you first thought about us. Prezzy's the first you met, right?”

The Minuteman in question tipped up his cowboy hat with the neck of the beer he held so he could see what was going on when he heard his name. He'd been leaning back against the wall of the big shack Scout had insisted on building and then never done anything with. To be fair, things had been busy lately, and this large empty space turned out to be a perfect gathering spot for the impromptu party. Scout scooted away from their spot against the wall to get closer to Preston and nearly ended up falling in his lap.

“Yeah, this guy,” they said, patting his face with their hand and almost knocking off his hat. “I met 'im, and then I met a deathclaw. He was a lot nicer.”

“Ooh, I can see the headline now,” Piper said, spreading her hands out in the air in front of her. “Preston Garvey, nicer than a deathclaw.”

**[a bunch of redacted fluff]**

“The snuggle train has arrived!” Scout announced.

They flopped into both Nick and Hancock, who did their damnedest to catch their drunken Sole. Hancock had the double burden of trying to do that and not think about the kind of train he'd like to run on Scout. Wait, shit, scratch that. The thought of anyone else touching Scout was sobering him up way too fast and also making him itch for something stronger than just mentats. But then Scout squirmed their way into his lap and smiled up at him, and Hancock forgot about everything else.

“Hi,” Scout said.

Hancock clung to the tattered remains of his bravado. “Well hell-o, gorgeous.”

Scout threw their head back and laughed, and Hancock swallowed hard, trying not to stare at the smooth skin of their cheeks or their neck or down lower—not looking. Not. Looking.

“C'mon Scout, you must've had thoughts about Mr. Mayor here,” Piper said.

Hancock resisted the urge to thunk his head back against the shack wall. Goddammit, he'd been so close to skipping over that question.

“Um, well,” Scout blushed and worried their lower lip. “The first part is pretty stupid. And the second part is … probably insensitive? I'd never seen a ghoul before.”

Hancock froze up, and Preston's eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath the brim of his hat.

“He's the first ghoul you ever saw?” Nick asked.

“Well, you were my first synth,” Scout replied. “I'd heard about Goodneighbor, and I wanted to know what a ghoul actually was because no one bothered to explain, and I've always been a throw-myself-in-the-deep-end-of-the-pool type of person.”


	2. Mayor John "Some of Them" Hancock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A preview of Scout finding out that Hancock hardly eats because he doesn't think he deserves the food, so they force him to eat an entire bowl of chicken pot pie.

“I know you think we need to be 'accepting' of chem addicts, but—”

Scout held back a sigh and an eye roll as they worked on hammering in a nail. They didn't need to look at Danse to know he was making a face like he'd just seen two bloatflies having filthy premarital sex. It was the look he always got when he went on one of his rants against Hancock, undoubtedly the unnamed chem addict in question.

“—even the ghoul ones still suffer from the side effects and withdrawal symptoms.”

Scout pounded the nail in harder than necessary. He could just say Hancock. Everyone knew Danse was talking about Hancock. Sometimes it seemed that was all he talked about.

“Some of the ghoul chem addicts look a little malnourished and _some_ of them might be high too often and _some of them_ shouldn't be trusted to have your back on missions,” Danse continued on his tirade.

Mayor John “Some of Them” Hancock. He'd get a kick out of that when Scout mimicked Danse's rant for him later when they—wait, what was that first part?

Scout looked up from the wall of the house—glorified shack—they were putting together. “You think Hancock looks malnourished?”

**[a bunch of redacted fluff and angst]**

“You're going to eat all of that,” Scout said, their voice still soft but too firm for him to argue with. “You're a person, John. When you say 'for the people,' you know you're one of the people too, right?”

“Plead the fifth,” Hancock muttered.

“All of it,” Scout repeated.

“Well.” Hancock pulled himself together and forced his usual cocky grin back onto his face. “If you insist on me eating your pie …”

“I do,” Scout replied, then continued with a completely straight face. “But I gotta warn you, it's not cherry.”


	3. The Bullshit Horn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some human settlers at Sanctuary get riled up and demands Scout kick out the ghoul settlers. Hancock thinks he's already seen where this is going, but Scout surprises him by shutting that bullshit down hard. The next time he goes to Goodneighbor, he refuses to stop gushing to Fahrenheit about it, who does her best to put up with her heart-eyed mush of a boss. Starts with angst, ends with sappy fluff.

“We don't want those ghouls here anymore.” A ragged chorus of “yeah!” backed him up, and he turned to look at Scout more expectantly. “They're not human, and we don't want them around us.”

Scout nodded slowly. “All right. I have a solution.”

Hancock sunk even deeper into the shadows across the street. He'd thought his Sole would have at least thought it over a little longer than that. They'd damn well better provide an escort for the two families all the way back to Goodneighbor instead of just kicking the ghouls out, or Hancock might have to call off this little character-building road trip short. Like hell he was going to travel around with someone who would pull that shit.

Scout stepped back into the workshop and returned a few moments later with what looked like a small can with a funnel turned sideways attached to the top of it.

“This is called a bullhorn,” Scout said. “But for tonight's purposes, I'm calling it a bullshit horn.”

“We don't care about that,” the leader of the crowd snapped. “Just make the ghouls—”

A tremendously loud sound blasted out of the can, cutting the leader off. Several other settlers in the crowd flinched back or clapped their hands over their ears. Scout waited nonchalantly.

**[[a bunch of redacted angst and fluff]]**

“You know what Scout said?” Hancock asked and then didn't wait for an answer. “That they were disappointed. Said, 'I'm disappointed in all of you' and literally shooed the smoothskins off. And as soon as Scout spots me, they ask if I'm OK and where the other ghouls are, then go check on—”

Fahrenheit shot the inhaler of Jet on the table before Hancock could reach for it. He stared at the shattered plastic, then glanced up at his bodyguard with a nonplussed expression.

“What the shit, Fahr?” he asked slowly.

Fahrenheit holstered her gun and exhaled through gritted teeth. “I asked you if you wanted to open up the tunnels for another supply run, and you spent thirteen minutes gushing about your crush.”

“Is that what you asked me?” Hancock leaned back against the sofa and idly popped another Mentat. “Huh.”

Fahrenheit gave an exasperated sigh.

“… I don't have a crush,” Hancock said, finally defending himself far too late.


	4. I'm Burning for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock and Scout take shelter from a rad storm in a cave and are forced to ~cuddle~ because Scout is sick and cold. Then Hancock tries to burn his coat to keep Scout warm, because he's a sweet, selfless sinnamon roll. Later, Scout tattles to Fahrenheit on him.

“I'm fine,” Hancock replied automatically. “How's my little Scout doing?”

“Warm, dry, not yet glowing,” Scout said, motioning to their geiger counter now hovering at a safe level. 

Hancock scowled at the joke, but his ghoulish frowny face didn't bother Scout in the slightest. 

“Good company,” they continued to tease him. “Be better if you came over here. Your coat's big enough to share.”

“Don't worry about me, gorgeous,” Hancock said.

Scout snorted. “I want to leech your body heat, so get over here and let me shove my cold hands in your armpits.”

Hancock scooted over with a grin. “Oh, that's where you want to put your hands on me?”

Scout gave a weak laugh and held open one side of the coat for Hancock to get under. His side pressed up against theirs and Scout lifted their legs to drape them in his lap. True to their word, their ice cold hands immediately shoved up under his armpits. Hancock wrapped an arm around them, but Scout made a whining noise of disapproval when that raised his arm up too high for their right hand to get any warmth. Their hands retreated, then pulled his shirt up and slipped beneath it to press against his bare chest.

“Shit,” Hancock hissed. “You ain't getting frost bite on me, are you?”

Scout rested their head against his shoulder and giggled. “It'd be just our type of irony if I was the one with parts falling off.”

Hancock let out a low growl at the thought. “Don't fucking jinx it.”

“Hey, you're the one who was going to—” Scout sneezed and had to take a moment to sniffle. “Ugh. To burn your damn coat.”

“Don't think I've ever heard that language come out of your mouth,” Hancock said. “I'm shocked. Scandalized. Horny.”

**[a bunch of redacted fluff]**

“And then he set his coat on the ground and held his lighter to it,” Scout tattled.

Fahrenheit's normally stoic composure broke, and she turned to stare at Hancock with her mouth agape. He refused to make eye contact with her and grumpily popped another Mentat.

“His coat!” Scout said.

“Your coat!” Fahrenheit echoed.

Hancock groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It's just a damn coat.”

Scout made an outraged scoff in the back of their throat, scrunching up their face in a comically over-dramatic expression of disbelief. Fahrenheit nodded and pointed to them.

“Yeah,” she said, echoing Scout's voiceless sentiments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How's my little scout doing?" is actually a canonical line that Hancock asks, and I happily hijacked it for my character! :D


	5. Sweet Dreams are Made of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RATED E; I really don't want to change the rating on this whole fic of previews just because one of them has an excerpt from a smutty drabble, but be warned that the second half of this preview is EXPLICIT. Also, warning for drug use, because this is Hancock after all.
> 
> Those impure thoughts Hancock's been having manifest in a filthy, kinky wet dream about his favorite friend, Scout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scout is agender and uses they/them pronouns. They like to present femininely and had top surgery pre-war, but they never cared much for the idea of bottom surgery, so they still have a penis. It has a rather, ahem, "large" part in the full fic and is also mentioned in this preview. Didn't want anyone getting confused.

Hancock knew it was a dream because Scout never wore their wedding ring in his dreams. In his own little dream world, that pesky band of gold was always missing, the same as how it was always conspicuous in the real world. But for now, everything was fuzzy and warm. He was on his knees and had his hands clasped behind his back because Scout trusted him enough not to bind his wrists. Scout trusted that he could be good. A good boy.

“Open.”

Scout's voice was gentle, but in a way that didn't allow for arguing. Hancock loved listening to their voice. It was sweet and lower than most people expected. He obeyed the order, opening his mouth and waiting for whatever would come next. Scout smiled and fed him something with a spoon, and the dream clicked into place. Scout was sitting in a chair and Hancock was kneeling between their legs, being fed and told nice things. If he stayed calm and didn't let his own angst turn this into something nasty, and if he didn't get woken up, the dream would get even better.

Thinking about it influenced the dream world, and Scout's free hand dropped to their crotch, adjusting themself in the tight vault suit. Hancock watched the action greedily, hungry for something more than just soup. Scout grinned at his blatant want.

“Something you'd rather have in your mouth?” they asked.

“Your nipples, your dick, that inhaler of Jet …” Hancock drawled. “But I'm not picky.”

**[fifteen more pages of redacted smut; EXPLICIT BELOW THIS CUT]**

Until all at once he was left empty, sucking in nothing but air. Hancock cracked an eye open and let out a moan that sounded pitiful even to him. Scout's own eyes were half-lidded, and they licked their lips as they stared down at him.

“You begging for my cock or for the Jet this time?” they asked.

Hancock tried to croak out a reply, but indecision caught him halfway.

Scout's voice dropped down to a coo. “You don't even know, do you, honey?”

“Please,” Hancock rasped, the best he could come up with.

Scout's expression shifted from amused arousal to fully earnest. “Of course. Like hearing you beg, but I'll always give you what you need. I take care of you.”

Hancock's whole body shuddered in response, and his mouth dropped open despite the ache in his jaw. Scout guided him back down more gently, but their hand stayed firm on the back of his neck until he'd swallowed down their whole cock. Back where he belonged. Hancock couldn't tell if he thought that or if Scout had said it, but it made him whimper again just the same.

“Go on, honey,” Scout said. “I know you want to come.”

Hancock couldn't breathe, but oxygen wasn't that necessary anyway. He pressed further down, shoving his face against Scout's groin to get their cock that half-inch deeper into his throat.

“This is enough to make you come, isn't it? All you need is my cock in your mouth, and you're coming on your knees like a needy little slut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a preview of the feeding-kink smut drabble that grew out of Mayor John "Some of Them" Hancock. I tried to write light, fluffy BDSM I swear, but it turned into this dirty sinning instead. I doubt anyone will complain ;)


	6. I Put a Spell on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a preview for the sequel of Going, Going ... Gone, and it's also fulfilling a song prompt given to me by thegaminggene on tumblr! Scout initiates a snowball fight, Hancock tries to get clean for Christmas, and Magnolia kisses him under the mistletoe. Fahrenheit and Daisy are meddling shippers and lock Scout and Hancock in his office until they work their shit out.

Something thumped into his back, and Hancock whipped back around. At this rate, he was going to get whiplash. And a goddamn heart attack. Scout gave him a somewhat sheepish look, snow still clinging to their gloves.

“To be entirely fair,” they said. “that totally could have been a grenade. Next time I want to ambush you with a snowball fight, I'll clear it with Fahrenheit first.”

Hancock gave a long suffering sigh. “Fucking hell, Scout. You all right? Lemme look at ya.”

He strolled over to his friend, who obligingly held out their arm to him. So trusting. Hancock grabbed their arm and pushed them, but Scout figured out what was happening midway through and latched onto the lapels of his coat so that they both went down into the snowdrift against the wall between Goodneighbor and the rest of Boston. Hancock landed on his side and heard Scout let out an oof as they fell next to him.

“Ugh, I can't believe I fell for that,” they groaned. “I hate y—”

They broke off with a high-pitched yelp as he grabbed a fist of snow and tried to rub it in their face. Scout retaliated by shoving snow down the back of his coat, which quickly soaked through his shirt. Hancock gritted his teeth against a shout of surprise and play-wrestled with Scout, managing to push them down onto their back. He got one leg swung over them right before he was tackled hard in the side and knocked back into the snowdrift. A long tongue licked all over his face, Dogmeat's weight on his chest keeping him pinned down as the dog seemed to aim her tongue directly for his nose hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short preview, I know, but I'll post the first chapter of I Put a Spell on You tomorrow, so you won't have to wait long! ;D


End file.
